Creation

If you go anywhere near where the heart lives & circle it day by day, week after week, hungry for what can’t be ignored or fed, you will discover that the obsession allows no room for anything else, & when you least expect it, wherever you are - whether it’s on a bus or ambling along some almost deserted street or lying in bed next to a lover - there it is, the recognition that you’ve crossed a line, passed over some extraordinary boundary from which there can be no return. Having delivered yourself to Anxiety’s door, your fever builds, feeling more like a sickness than a healing. And yet, everything you have in you to say - everything that is eternally new - lives on the other side of that door, & when you reach it, don’t look back, don’t look down - having come this far, you understand how every ‘truth’ you’ve ever employed to reassure yourself is useless, & that despite what you've been told, no life is purchasable for a dance in the street. This is the undoing phase, without which there is no true creation.